Forgive Me
by repmetsyrrah
Summary: S/B 2x03 AU. Anna never found Branson's letter about the General. By the time Sybil does, it's too late. Second chapter added. Sybil visits an old friend.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I wrote this after listening to an audiobook of The Book Thief for three days (road trip) so it's a bit different from my usual style. Still I hope you like it. Not sure if I'll continue you not.

Thanks to babageneush for the beta.

**Forgive Me**

* * *

Sybil sat completely still.

The fuss had all but died down yet the house was still in a crisis. Servants rushed this way and that as Carson's voice, boiling with barely contained fury, commanded them in their efforts to erase every hint that something had gone terribly wrong at luncheon that day.

She looked down at her skirt, little flecks of black lay upon it, seeming, in all their smallness, to engulf her. The tiny imperfections overwhelming everything until they were all that mattered.

The general had been taken away to bathe and scrub the smell out and Sybil knew she should do the same but she couldn't move.

How could he?

How could he do something so_ stupid?_

How could he leave her?

_Better prison than the Dardanelles._

Evidently, better prison than her as well.

_Why do you have to be so angry all the time?_

The scene played again and again.

Not the act itself. When she attempted to remember that all she recalled was a film, colourless and dull. Branson pouring his foul mix over the general, yelling about the situation in Ireland. How he had family whose blood was on this man's hands.

When she thought of the aftermath it was as if the film had spilled out of the screen to land right in front of her, the slow, dim images snapping into colour and noise. Branson's shouting merging with the yells of the general's associates, with her father's shocked stammerings, the soldiers jumping to their feet.

They had _grabbed_ him.

That had jolted her from her initial surprise, the ferocity in the movements of the men who had leapt to the general's aid.

They grabbed him so hard she could already see the bruises forming on his arms. If he rolled his sleeves up, as she knew very well he often did, she would be able to see them. Vicious handprints wrapped around his biceps.

They hadn't cared. It only took three to hold him, the fourth spat on his livery.

"Fucking mick."

And punched him square in the jaw.

He had been dragged away after that and she hadn't seen him since.

She didn't know where he was now.

Had they hit him again?

Did he need a nurse?

"Sybil, go upstairs and get changed."

Mary's voice cut into her, neatly severing her from the recollections that refused to settle into anything remotely understandable in her mind.

Sybil nodded mechanically.

"Do you think they hurt him?"

The words surprised them both but Sybil couldn't hide the desperation on her face and it seemed to soften her eldest sister.

"I'm sure he's still in one piece," Mary told her softly, with a gentle tone she reserved for very few. "I can ask Matthew later, he might know what's to be done with him."

Sybil flinched.

She wasn't sure how she did get to her room but by the time Mary's words stopped ringing in her ears she was standing alone by her bed.

Anna had placed her evening dress and her night clothes on her bed, knowing Lady Sybil prefered to dress herself now.

It was much too early for bed but Sybil already knew she wouldn't be going to dinner.

She took off her soiled clothes with detached movements, clinical almost, separating herself from the moment as she would at the hospital when tending a patient's wounds.

It was only when she reached for her nightgown that the piece of paper slid out and hit the floor.

She recognised the writing immediately.

_Lady Sybil_

The words stared up at her from the paper.

So black and white.

She almost laughed.

She picked it up and turned it over.

_Forgive me._

Her hands shook, rustling the paper as she unfolded it immediately, not giving herself time to think.

_Sybil,_

_They'll have arrested me by now, but I'm not sorry. The bastard had it coming to him._

_I am sorry you have to be there to witness it. But what is a protest without witnesses?_

_Perhaps it will be for the best in the end though, leaving Downton like this._

_I wanted to leave before, so badly. I should have. But I couldn't. You know why._

_I only hope you do not hate me for this. I can bear any punishment they choose to inflict but not that._

_Yours always_

_Tom_

The letter fell from her hand, dropping quickly to the floor, the weight of its content weighing it down.

Sybil felt odd, as if the air had been sucked from the room. The sounds of the day filled her mind, drowning out the silence as the yells and screams and pleas jostled for her attention.

_Forgive me_

_Fucking mick_

_Yours always_

_Why do you have to be so angry all the time?_

_Yours._

_Always._

Two words pierced the silence.

"You bastard."


	2. Chapter 2

I didn't intend to continue this and I'm not promising any more but I had this in my drafts for a while so I thought I'd post it at least.

Thanks to babageneush for the beta.

**For Us**

* * *

Her father would be informed.

Of that much she was certain. But it didn't stop her.

She had called ahead to be sure she would be allowed in. Her father would yell, he would demand answers, he would scream and rage but it would be too late to stop her.

The guards stared at her but they had no reason to deny her request.

She expected to be given a time limit but she wasn't spoken to as she was lead down a dark hall and left in a cold, unfriendly room.

The entire place was more than unpleasant. The men here weren't simply criminals. They were cowards and traitors. Treasonous bastards hiding behind their religions, their politics, while the real heroes died in the muddy fields of France, falsely promised glory in defending their country.

She heard how they were treated here, but even that didn't prepare her.

It took every ounce of control in her body not to cry out at the sight of him.

If she hadn't known who they were bringing she may not have recognised the gaunt, hollowed out figure who was dragged roughly into the room.

His clothing, if the thin rags they'd provided him could be called that, hung off his skeletal frame. His skin was mottled with bruises, divided by clean scars drawn across his body.

Her nurses' eyes caught the different colours. Yellows and purples mingled and layered on top of each other.

Different stages of healing. Acquired at different times.

He'd been beaten. More than once.

Her beautiful Tom...

_What have they done to you?_

The guard stepped back into the corner and Sybil felt terribly naïve as she realised she had expected them to allow her time alone with him.

His shock at the sight of her was clear but behind it, she saw happiness too. Hidden amongst the confusion, the fear, the disbelief, he was happy to see her.

And it was enough to make her smile.

"What are you doing here?"

His voice was the same, he spoke clear and strong and she felt a flare of pride that he still did so.

She sat opposite him, attempting another smile as his disbelieving eyes followed her.

"Visiting an old friend."

"Should I leave before he comes then?"

A forced smile passed between them.

"Has Mr. Carson recovered yet?"

She laughed, a short, unexpected sound, startled out of her by the absurdity of the question. Of course he already knew the answer but she obliged him anyway.

"I think he'll carry it to the grave."

He nodded before becoming serious again.

"I was sorry to do that too him, you know? He's a good man… I'm not sorry for much about that day, but I am sorry for that."

Sybil nodded. "I think he understands," she told him, "he won't ever forgive you but I think a part of him understood it."

He didn't look convinced.

"Maybe."

"Your mother wrote to me." She wasn't sure why she said it but she couldn't take the words back.

The revelation startled him, bringing his eyes up to met hers. "She did?"

"She was angry."

"You should have seen the one she wrote me."

His words were light, as if he expected them to engage in small talk.

"_Your mother wrote to me, says the weather's nice back home."_

Sybil wished she could tell him that.

Instead, she told him what the letter really said.

"She told me it was my fault, that you had stayed at Downton so long. Instead of going home... where you belonged."

His silence was as good as agreement.

She waited but he didn't speak. His face remained unreadable.

He hadn't asked why his mother had been angry at her, she realised. He knew.

"She says I kept you there out of my own selfishness, wanting to 'hold you in my sway' because I enjoyed having power over you."

He remained silent for a long while after her words faded away. She considered saying more, telling him how she had cried for days, re-reading his mother's words, trying not to let herself believe them.

"No, it wasn't you."

If she hadn't been sitting she would have collapsed in relief but his next words sowed uncertainty again, her relief abating as he continued.

"It was my stubborness. I was determined not to leave until I had your answer."

"Yet here you are."

He laughed at the that, a bitter, hollow sound.

"Here I am," he repeated, looking at his soundings with dark amusement.

"I asked you not to leave... do you remember?"

He nodded. "I remember every word."

The guard stood in the corner, forgotten. Sybil had long since stopped caring what her father heard.

Perhaps she still wasn't ready to say it but she knew, the most important man in her life was sitting across from her right now. She cared more for him than anyone else on Earth.

"Tom-" She reached forward and he flinched.

"No touching."

She ignored the guard. Her hands hovering over his as she saw his embarrassment at his reaction. The way he instinctively braced himself at the sign of a sudden movement.

_What have they done to you?_

She moved slower, her hands folding gently over his and he looked up. For a moment, just a brief flicker, she saw him, her Tom, looking back at her.

They hadn't broken him.

_Not yet._

"No touching!"

His hands pulled gently away from hers, neither of them looking at the guard.

He slumped back into his cold, hard chair and spoke his next words to the table.

"God knows I love you Sybil, I hope you do too. I have for so long and I always will but... I couldn't stay. It wasn't good for either of us."

"So you made the decision for me?"

Her anger was sudden and unexpected. She hadn't come for this, to fight with him.

But she would.

"I made _my_ decision." He lifted his head and fixed her with a piercing look. "I apologise, _milady_," - she flinched- "if I misinterpreted your words that day. But as I recall I did offer you a chance to be part of my life, to be involved in my decisions, and you refused. So no, I did not make _your_ decision. I made my own, for my own life."

His words fell heavily onto her. His letter.

She keeps that secret under a floorboard in her closet, she doesn't even trust her locked jewellry box to hold it.

She doesn't know how many times she's read it. She doesn't even need to really, sometimes she just holds it, the words burned into her mind.

_Perhaps it will be for the best-_

For who, him?

_I wanted to leave before, so badly. I should have._

She should have let him leave at York. When he offered.

_But I couldn't. You know why._

Her. He hadn't left because she had told him to stay.

Given him hope.

He couldn't leave because he was waiting for her.

That's why he had to do this. He'd performed his protest knowing they would force him out, take him away in handcuffs, drag him.

Do what she had never allowed him to do himself.

"Is this my fault?" Her voice was softer than she intended, less certain.

The unfamiliar laugh came again.

"Now you're flattering yourself."

The words hurt. He had to know they would.

"I did this for Ireland. I decided to fight for what I believe in."

The accusing tone in his voice spoke far louder than any of his words.

"And I don't?"

She was angry now. How _dare_ he?

But he'd always been able to see through her, cut past her defenses like no one else.

"See that's what I've asked myself everyday," Tom said, his voice quiet and brutal.

He stared at her and she saw him again. Her Tom.

Angry, hurt.

"Did you not believe in us? Or did you simply never care?"

She stood.

He remained seated.

She hoped it was defiance that kept him there, not weakness.

Her door opened and she turned from him without a word, neither having any more to say.

The guard nodded politely but his face gave him away.

Her father will hear every word.

She still couldn't bring herself to care.

"Thank you." She nodded back. "I'll be here the same time next week."

Her last words were louder, perhaps unusually so but he merely nodded again. From somewhere behind her, through all the bars, she heard Tom's guard snap at his charge to keep moving.

She turned and continued down the corridor, satisfied her message had been received.

_I'll fight_, she wished she could find a way to tell him that too. _I believe in us and I will fight._

_You just watch me._


End file.
